Free No Legal Grounds by James Scott Bell Page B

on telling Lew about Nicky Oberlin. No use worrying his partner too much.
“I hear you, pal,” Lew said. “Girls especially, am I right?”
“I grew up with two older brothers, so it’s been a real education.”
“The more you know about women, the less you know about women.”
“You’re a real philosopher, Lew.”
“Call me Lewistotle.”
Lewistotle was right about women. But Sam determined he would do something radical, something he probably should have done a long time ago.
Something frightening.
He would try to understand Heather’s music.
But first he would clear the air with Linda. A cool fog had descended on the home since the revelation about his out-ofwedlock child.
Nicky had done it. Managed to inject poison into his marriage. It wasn’t fatal, but it was certainly a presence, the proverbial elephant in the room.
He stopped at Conroy’s for some flowers. He loved the can’tmiss flexibility of flowers. Good for wooing when young, apologizing when middle-aged, and decorating when you cashed in your chips. Flowers did it all, cradle to grave.
Selecting a multicolored collection that included lilies and gerberas, Sam picked one of the nicer cards in the rack. Being a guy, Sam reflected, he usually spent as much time on a card as he did checking the rearview mirror for traffic. Not this time. This one was for Linda, the woman he loved. More deeply, he realized, each time he did something clunky to their marriage.
He even did the hide-the-flowers-behind-the-back routine at the front door, ringing the bell. When Linda answered he smiled, then brought them out with a flourish.
They worked their magic.
“Beautiful,” she said.
“Look at the card.” He was particularly proud of the card.
Linda took the card out of the flowers and read it. Sam had written, My one and only, always.
Her eyes misting, Linda said, “A nice card.”
Sam put his arms around her, then walked her inside. No need for words. They were enfolded in the silent security of twenty-two years together.
Inside, as Linda put the flowers in a vase, Sam told her about his idea of going to hear Heather’s band.
“Is that crazy?” he asked.
“I think it’s a great first step.” Linda set the flowers in the greenhouse window of the kitchen. The afternoon sun was starting to turn orange as it fell behind the Santa Monica mountains.
“You want to come with me?”
“I think both of us there would freak her out. Besides, I have to pick up Max at seven thirty.”
“Where’s Max again?”
“With his friend Todd.”
“So that means I have to go to this place all by myself?”
“Why don’t you just slip in the back a little after eight o’clock? And try not to look too old.”
“Shall I shave my head before I go?”
“Heather would love that,” Linda said. “Why don’t you?”
1.
    The Cobalt Café was a venue for new bands along the Sherman Way corridor in Canoga Park. There was an alien crowd spilling out into the night street when Sam arrived. Young people, multichromatic in clothing, with piercings and heavy makeup. All smoking and trying to out-sullen one another.
    Sam ached for them. They were the flotsam and jetsam of the failed social experiment of the last thirty years, the one that put a low priority on family. The culture of divorce, coupled with the decline of public schools and the endless temptations and pressures on kids, ended up with youth adrift. An ocean of lostness in the urban jungle.
    But had he done all he could to keep Heather out of this despair? He and Linda had tried to get her involved with church. Didn’t take. They tried to get her to go to private school, but she wanted to stay with her friends. Maybe that’s when he should have insisted, drawn a line.
    The only certain thing was that Heather was now part of the lost, and he had no idea what compass he could use to find her.
Maybe tonight would be a start.
He was aware of some looks through the smoky haze, but he had not worn his lawyer outfit. He had on